


Alone

by Indieblue



Series: Let The Stars Fall As They May [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hogwarts Founders Era, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Relationship(s), Sexual Content, a bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 12:58:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15663690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indieblue/pseuds/Indieblue
Summary: Part Eight of a collection of Founders drabbles, shorts, oneshots and random scenarios. Mainly Salazar/Helga and Rowena/Godric, because I ship them something intense. Some of them shall be happy and full of light, but some of them will be fraught with sadness and sorrow. Non-canon (not that there's a lot of that as it pertains to the Founders).





	Alone

**Author's Note:**

> I may ship Salazar/Helga and Rowena/Godric something terrible, but I absolutely love the idea of the Salazar and Godric (and Helga and Rowena), so I kind of had to write this. I actually wrote this and the next part in one go.
> 
> My tumblr: indiebluecrown.tumblr.com
> 
> Please let me know what you think!

   He unblinkingly stares at the blank piece of parchment until his eyes burn. This is pathetic.

   He taps an ink smudged finger against the surface of his mahogany desk, _tap, tap, tap_.

   He rakes in a shuddering breath, and tries to think of other things. Things that are completely unrelated to the stupid man that has been plaguing his thoughts.

   He hadn’t realised how _lonely_ he’d been over the past few years; he’d barred himself off from all others—he had no permitted any allowances or room inside of his heart for something as frivolous as _feelings_. Not when he had to protect them _all_ from the Muggles who would not hesitate to burn this Castle and all its occupants to the ground.

   He’d been so lonely, and he’d wanted for nothing. Only, that wasn’t true. Salazar Slytherin had wanted _him_ the moment he laid eyes on him. Lightning had prickled at the back of his eyes, his fingers felt numb and there was a tingly feeling in his left leg. He swore he was coming down with a cold.

   Alas, he’d kept his head down, and he’d interacted with the other heads of house only when truly necessary (save for Helga, she makes the best sweets, and she has a serenity about her that soothes his restless soul).

   That is, until last night. Last night everything changed. For _him_ it had at least, whereas the lion was probably off gallivanting about—wholly unaffected whilst Salazar is sat here in his Dungeon in pensive ponderance.

   Salazar tries to think of other things, but ultimately fails. It isn’t long before he can taste the smoky yet sickly sweet man against on the tip of his tongue, before he is inhaling the scent of the forest after it rains.

   Godric Gryffindor has left a permanent mark on him, and his chest aches at the thought. He’d been so lonely for _so_ long, that part of him thought that last night he’d forgotten his head, and simply given into lust and a desperate need for skin ship after being on his own for _so_ long.

   He couldn’t have been more wrong. Salazar’s soul had quivered and then sang gaily under Godric’s touch; he suspects that no other could have reduced him to the shameful mess he’d become by the time they were finished. The idea that he will never find another like Godric is perhaps the most frightening part of the whole ordeal.

   He’d been on his own for so long, but he hadn’t realised the true extent of his self-inflicted solitude until last night. Salazar recalls the Elf wine, and he recalls Godric’s rough hands in his shoulder-length raven locks.

   A low, mocking chuckle escapes his lips. This truly is pathetic, here he is pining after Godric like a youth who has yet to get his dick wet. The amused noise dies and catches in his throat—trapped there like a caged animal—and for a brief moment he chokes on air.

   When he finally composes himself once more, he flies up from his seat, and rubs his temples as he strides towards his door with a cloud of frustration swirling around his head.

   Salazar flings the door open, and lo and behold, standing there looking guilty child caught in some naughty act, is the man of the hour; Godric Gryffindor.

   Salazar has been on his own for far too long, but when he peers into Godric earnest golden brown eyes, he knows that he isn’t going to be alone any longer.


End file.
